


hold my body till the sun goes red

by twinsters



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 12:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twinsters/pseuds/twinsters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall stops him, because he can’t bear to hear Harry say all these things, kisses him instead swallowing his words into his mouth. His chest expanding at the rush of feelings, and he thinks, <i> I want to love you too. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	hold my body till the sun goes red

Niall slides down the key card its slot, the lock clicking open to his hotel room; he’d had forgotten his seasonal pass before heading down to brekkie with Paul, rummaging through his pockets just as he was about to leave, and hurried back upstairs to get from the bedside table he’s surely must’ve left it on. With a gentle press he opens the door and he’s busy tucking his card back into the pocket of his wallet that he doesn’t he realizes there is someone else in his room, bumping into their broad back. Hastily, he pulls back rubbing at his forehead, and seeing the mass of curls disappear as the boy swivels on his feet, turning with a dimpled smile on his face. 

 

“Hey,” Harry waves, awkwardly at that, shoulders hunched. The boy’s got horrible posture taking away the inch and a half or something he’s usually got over Niall himself. Think it was back during the Where We Are tour when he properly started seeing a chiro, getting routine therapy and sometimes even prescribed painkillers for the terrible back pains he’d had, always joked about how the youngest had an old soul trapped within him, and Harry mostly went along and since then, so far as Niall knows, it has gotten better. 

 

“Harry?” Niall breathes, word slipping out with a question. They haven’t talked, well. Since the X Factor finale when they’d officially started their hiatus, a text in the band group message the closest to them actually taking, and it is weird knowing how taking a break from the band meant  _ taking a break from the band _ . 

 

But then he’d met Lou a couple of weeks ago at the Adele concert he’d attended, them bumping into each other when she was performing at the O2, a solo cup in Lou’s hand, her hair teased and black eyeliner smudged under her eyes - Niall’s not really sure if it was on purpose or had weared down as the night went on. She’d loosely curled an arm around his neck, a hug of sorts for their impromptu reunion, and had mentioned Harry. Him being the only she’d been actively in touch with since her day job became mostly inactive; though, he reckons, Louis and Liam must be in touch with her seeing as she styled them for the Brits. 

 

“That goof misses you, salt,” she’d relayed, her eyes blearily as Adele crooned ‘Million Years Ago’ into the mic. That’d been his favorite song off the album. Played it on loop days after, the words sticking to him like syrup from your favorite popsicle in the heat of the summer, sweet and reminiscent. 

 

Niall pretended the bursting emotion in the crowd drowned her words, that he’d been on the far end of the discussion, and segued into asking about Lux, about her starting school come september. Crazy, that. She’d been a wee child when they’d started, barely able to do much unlike towards the end of On The Road Again where she chewed their ears off with her chatter - not that he’d minded it -, but he figures they’d all been in some way. Young, tender, almost. There’s no such thing as growing up too fast because you grow just as you’re meant to, your biological clock ticking with every year, but looking back at it now they did. Grow up too fast. 

 

When the song ended, Adele moving about the stage to walk to the far right corner, speaking into her cordless mic about how she’s duly grateful for the folks in the audience for coming out and spending the evening with her, he’d ducked back towards the exit door. Lou catching the seam of his cuffed sleeve, a soft smile reaching her eyes, and Niall had paused, waiting, “Don’t be a stranger.”   
  


There were words caught in his throat about two way streets, and analogies about well spent days and broken friendships, but instead he found himself saying, “Going to be in America in early April, the Masters are ‘appening in Augusta. Let him know he’s welcomed to join.”   
  


That’d been over two weeks ago, maybe three, and he’d put that little tidbit away how he’d given in this once because sometimes it is okay to relive a dream, to let yourself believe there is something there to hold on to, the ship he’d been knotted to for so long hasn’t tethered him away. But, he’s also  _ lived _ it, and become who it demanded him to be so, now, holding on seems like sailing along an unguided wave. Drifting until he’s ready to let go. Funny is that he’d thought he was. 

 

“You don’t seem happy to see me,” Harry confesses, the silence breaking Niall out of his thoughts. Niall fishmouths, tongue dry and gaping at the words floating about that he’s not hooking onto. You can hear the steady buzz of the mini fridge in the corner, the only sound encapsulating the four walls stood around them, and then Harry’s saying, tightening his grip around the strap of the duffel bag on his shoulder, “ _ Oh _ .”

 

He flails his hands around, as if unsure where he’s supposed to tuck them, a fish out of water if Niall may add, “Didn’t realize the invite was rescinded. I-,” stopping short, and then grabbing at his words again, “See myself out, yeah?”

 

There is movement and Niall’s not sure which of them reaches first, but he brings a firm hand to Harry’s forearm, the curve of his thumb brushing over the tits of the horrendous tattoo etched into Harry’s skin. God, he’s a proper twat for getting that one - a lot of his little sketches don’t make much sense, but Niall had always liked them, the shambolic drawings scattered all over his skin. The distinct lack of it makes them more cohesive than not. 

 

He’s read the tweets, the tabloids, the articles, talking about his goodnatured personality and how Harry’s learned to be reserved over the years, but to Niall it is like staring at a giant red dot, the question to your answer, and walking past it. How could you not see he’s worn himself, as he is, for all these years, right here? On his chest, on his rams, on his legs, even. Life’s pretty unpredictable, and Harry’s tattoos are all that - no structure necessary.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” he reprimands, “‘M glad, you’re here. Was just gonna leave for a round of golf with me mates, Mark and Justin. Could join us?”   
  


“Don’t know, Niall, wouldn’t want to crash your afternoon,” but there’s already a smile peeking onto his face. “”Sides, last time we played, I kicked your arse.”   
  


“Gotten me handicap down to 12, mate, so I wouldn’t be that confident if I was you,” Niall teases, drawing his back waiting for Harry to face which he does, gladly so. A full-fledge smile on his face, pushing deep into his cheeks, “Is that a challenge I hear?”

Niall hums, pretending to think, tapping a finger to his chin - the bristles of his stubble poking at his index-, “That would imply you have a chance in the first place.”

 

Harry’s jaw drops in mock horror, a hand coming to push at Niall’s shoulder to which he heartily cackles, jerking his head towards the door, “Let me change first, you twat.”

 

The sun is ducked behind an array of cirrocumulus, cirrus, and cirrostratus, toning down the bright streak to a soft hue, blue, but not quite. Easy enough on the eyes that when he’s waiting for Harry to swing his club, Harry having to use his clubs since he didn’t bring his own and in-between the two Niall’s were loftier since he’d been using them so often, always finding a new set when he’d worn down his other one’s. Considering they’re at a championship course they’re doing a round of 18 holes, this being their 9th one and so far it isn’t looking good for Harry if their score board is anything to by.

 

Just as he’s able to swing his club into the ball, Niall pipes up, almost on purpose, “Terrible posture there, petal.”   
  


Harry’s grip around the club loosens, it sliding out of his grasp and flying to a little ways to the right, which gets a rightful chuckle out of Niall, his chest reverberating with the easy feeling that fills him whenever his friend is around. Friend, yeah. 

 

Harry turns around, eyebrows furrowed looking much like a wounded pup, something he’d picked up from Liam, Niall remembers, halfway thru the Take Me Tour. Though unlike Liam where you coo at his expression, pulling his leg a bit, but also, being slightly enamored, you feel right guilty with Harry. It’s his eyes, Niall thinks. They’re young, holding a touch of softness that they’ve shed out of, mostly. He’s so  _ young _ . Easy to forget that when you think you’ve aged ten years. They’re barely made it past twenty-two. If they were normal lads, right about now, in many states they wouldn’t even be able to rent a car. 

 

“You did that on purpose,” Harry grumbles, walking over to where his club is lying plaint. Picking it up and stacking it with other in the caddy bag they’d brought along, taking out a new one and setting out to aim. 

 

“Or you’re just that bad,” Niall answers.

 

“You know, I came all the way to Augusta,  _ all _ the way from California, and you’ve only been mean to me,” Harry pouts. 

 

“You prat,” Niall socks him in the shoulder, and Harry bites at his first. Poking his tongue out when Niall gives him a disgruntled groan, wiping the slobbery mess on his pants, “You’re an animal.”   
  


“A cute one,” Harry plugs in, and Niall laughs, “Yeah, suppose.” 

 

Harry preens a little, ducking his head as if he’s flushing, “Bet the puppy filter would look hella cute on me.” 

 

Niall groans, the beginnings of a flush heating up his cheek, “They’re fun, alright.” Harry hums, and Niall goes to him again, but this time he brings a hand to his wrist and hold it there, pressing a swift kiss to Niall’s knuckles. That gives a weird lurch in his stomach, trying to ground himself he says in his best northern californian accent, “Besides, I for one did look  _ hella  _ adorable with it.”   
  


Harry snorts, “That you did.”

 

Harry somehow from the will of luck, and  heavy stroking, manages to get a hole-in-one, ultimately winning. Niall is left gaping and when the ball plops into the cup, Harry jumps in joy, cheering and running over to Niall.

 

“Told you!” He gloats, resting his wide palms on his hips, grinning, and Niall rolls his eyes, leaning on his golf club, “Suppose this means you won.”   
  


“No, we’ve been shooting grass for the past four hours for shits and giggles,” Harry snarks, and then he’s holding out his palm, “Where’s my reward for winning, Niallar?”

 

“We didn’t even bet on anything!” Niall protests, standing up straight. “Also, in my defense, this was clearly rigged. Bet you paid the upkeepers off to snip the grass short, make the course flatter.” 

 

“You’re just a  _ sore _ loser,” Harry blanches, pulling down on his baseball cap with the Sox logo on it. He doesn’t even like the sport, but had liked the colors to what he’d told Niall, so bought the hat. Then he’s stepping back the tee towards Niall, closer with every inch, and blinks, “I think this calls for a celebration.”

 

“A celebratory drink for one, clearly my days slaving under the sun over the sport haven't been paying off, might just stick ‘round to brush up me skills,” Niall jokes. There is a restaurant downtown he’s been meaning to visit, patting at his golf pants to pluck out his phone, thinking to call basil up so he can make reservation for the two. But when Harry doesn’t reply with another quip, or, his incessant rambling about how he’s been getting into meteorology and is quite fond of clouds, Niall glances up. 

 

Harry’s tamping down on his lower lip with those rabbit teeth of his, putting off a deep in thought look, and Niall wouldn’t pay any attention to it on most days, but right now he’s demanding some. 

 

“What?”

 

Harry shrugs, running a hand through his now shoulder-length hair - he oughta get a cut soon or he’d be stuck dealing with treacherous split ends that make headlines much like most things he does. He untangles the knots and lets them fall down, parted to the left, “You outgrew us, the band, I mean.”

 

Niall blinks, bringing his phone down, trying to catch up with how the conversation took down this end. “I don’t..”   
  


Harry waves his hands around like he’s trying to whisk the air, like he’s busy conducting an orchestra concert, hands providing direction, “You know… Like you didn’t need us. In some ways, always knew you would move on from, like the band.” And then adds, tentative, “Me.”   
  


Niall’s heart sinks at the thought, thinking how they’d spent so long not talking, not talking because of one stupid mistake and now he’s left Harry believing these things that aren’t even half the truth, “You know it isn’t like that. Not on this end it isn’t.”

 

And yeah he’s been trying to grow separate from the band, learning to brace these uncapped opportunities head on, but his heart has always been in the same place. More so, it was more like how much the band needed him opposed to whether he needed the band. And, Harry. Well.

 

“You were always my favorite in the band, y’know,” and, maybe, always is a lie. Because there had been Zayn. He doesn’t know where he is regarding that, or if he’ll ever find some sort of peace, but there’d been a time when without batting an eye he’d been able to say Zayn he’s closest to, and that should count for something. It does in his books.

 

A gust of wind makes Harry’s hair flowy, and then he’s smiling, fluttering his eyelashes, “Was it my irresistible dimples or chocolate brown curls?”

 

“Nah, it was them pigeon toes, you know how I like ‘em,” Niall says, sounding more sincere than he'd originally intended. 

 

Harry just doubles over in a laugh, resting his hand on Niall’s shoulder, the thumb rubbing at his collarbone, “Always knew you had a foot fetish.”

 

“Wonder what gave me away,” Niall muses. 

 

\--

They make their reservation at the Frog Hollow Tavern in downtown Augusta. The restaurant is a niche place tucked on the far end of Broad street, windows lining the front filtering in enough light, but on the inside the ambience is more intimate, lights dimmed with booths and tables all alike - dark wood running the ceiling, mahogany furniture with lanterns hanging right in the middle of the booths. Suspended just high enough to brighten the setting. 

 

Harry whistles, “This place is nice. Proper fancy, Niallar, gonna spoil me?”

 

“Oh, stuff it,” Niall tamps a hand down on his chest, his fingers skidding against the smooth skin of Harry’s chest. “Been waxing I see.”

 

“I have an image to maintain, of course,” Harry scoffs, the waiter coming round and guiding them to their reserved table. The restaurant is high end and not, enough that no one is willingly going to seek them out, and they’re hardly any children because of the part bar aspect. Niall likes the comfortable air to it. 

 

“Yet you can shave the disgraceful growth over your lips,” Niall makes an offhand comment, sliding into the booth and setting his palms on top of the chestnut wood of the table. There is a salt shaker and a bottle of hot sauce, but no pepper he notices immediately. He looks towards the wall end and finds it hidden behind the menu holder, dragging a hand down and bringing it to the incomplete set. Harry groans, “Not everyone can grow facial hair like yourself,”   
  


Niall smiles wide,remembering how they used to be on the same team in that department, and then they’re diving into the menus, Harry indecisive as ever, but Niall knows he’ll go with what he feels most comfortable with. He doesn't interrupt the long standing indecision though, that’d be rude, and when the waiter comes over to jot down their order he surely does order the Baby Iceberg Lettuce Wedge, Niall himself goes with the Lamb Shank knowing fully well he needs to order enough for the two because his friend has a terrible habit of stealing his food, poking into his plate and taking a bite as it was his meal to begin with. 

 

“Any drinks with that, gentlemen?” The waiter goes on once he’s thoroughly answered Harry’s questions about where they got their tomatoes from, whether it was local produce from a family owned business, or they’d been in partnership with a farm. Niall scans the menu disappointed to see only red and white wine as the options listed - a variety of them. He reckons the one that sounds the best probably tastes the best. 

 

“I’ll have a glass of rosé, please and thank you,” Harry’s quick to decide that, folding his hands over the table and expectant of Niall’s choice. 

 

“Uh,” he pauses, and then, “What’d you recommend?”

 

The waiter stumbles over his words caught off guard that he’s being asked, and Niall smiles to make it easier for him, so he’d feel comfortable, “Personally, I enjoy a glass of Merlot. Not big on sweeter one’s to be honest.”

 

From the corner of his eyes he can see Harry rolling his eyes, put off obviously, and Niall can’t help but be intrigued. This should be fine, this still tension, because for the longest time they tip-toed around it and it was all he knew. It isn’t like Niall is doing something wrong. So, he continues, “You seem like a man who enjoys his beer. A lager, maybe?” 

 

The boy laughs, his eyes crinkling just the bit, and he is closer to their age he thinks. Freshly out of school perhaps, unkempt dirty blonde hair and the crisp white short compliments him, “Dead giveaway was I? Yeah, I’m a beer guy. Proper southerner.”   
  


“Mate, you gotta let me know where I could grab a pint. Know any good places round here? Almost seems like I’ve been deprived,” Niall leans into him a little, the boy - his name tag reads Dylan - swaying his hips to Niall’s side. He fiddles with his felt-tip pen, nervous, and Niall almost feels bad, but then Harry’s incessantly shaking his leg and before Dylan can offer anything, Harry’s clearing his throat, “Niall, I saw a bar down the street. We could go after if you’ve quite finished here.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows are arched, incredulously, and this shouldn’t be so funny, seeing him impatient, “Right, yeah. I’ll have a glass of Merlot then, love.”

 

The boy skitters away a flush rising to his ears and Niall’s left turning his attention back at Harry who looks akin to a child that’s been told they can’t have their share of oreos for the rest of the month, tragic. Niall bites down his lips, stifling a laugh bubbling in his throat, “What’s with you?”

 

“May I remind you this is a dinner treat for  _ me _ not for you to pick up random guys at random restaurants,” Harry complains, puffing his cheeks, a slight pink dusting over his face under the lantern. 

 

“Jealous, are we now?” Niall picks at the napkins set before them, already unfurling his set of fork and knife. Harry doesn’t answer, messes about his phone, and is it okay to want things that you know you shouldn’t, that are attached to a much bigger picture? Trying to stop yourself, trying to find answers, he's been good at that. He's good at what's best for everyone. 

 

“You,” Niall starts, doesn't know how to say without making it sound like, like, hope. Worried he’s going to plant a seed to something that can't survive, but. “You look at me different. Don't know of anyone who does that way, to be honest. It scares me.”

 

Harry narrows his eyes, laughing awkwardly, “I'm not a-” the words settling in before he finishes his thought, and the room is brimming with people idly chatting away in their respective booths and tables, and yet, all Niall can hear is the rabbiting of his pulse. 

 

“You don't have to be,” Harry assures, a wistful smile climbing his face and there is something so sad about it. Makes Niall chest ache. “It's just me looking.” 

 

\--

 

They're sitting on the floor of Niall’s hotel room, bones gooey from the days built up exhaustion, their backs aligned to the bed, legs spread out with Bad Boys 2 playing on the Telly. Niall always been fond of Will Smith, good actor, he is. 

 

Harry’s hand has been skating up and down his thigh since they resorted to this position, not much else though, his eyes fixed on the screen, laugh splitting the otherwise quiet into splinters at the right times. They haven't talked in months. They haven't so much as said hi and right now that all seems silly. Seems like the farthest thing on his mind, reasons of doing so especially. 

 

“Harry,” Niall interrupts, because if he can, if he's allowed, then for once he’d like to toss aside the weight he's been carrying. “Hm?” He hums, fingers still against Niall’s knee now. Turning to face him. 

 

“What's up?”

 

“Why'd you come here?” Niall asks, blunt. The lull of the Saturday night traffic outside his window amplifies under Harry’s wary gaze, the dialogue exchange between Will and his partner lost to them. “You invited me,” which he did. Unsure still why though. 

 

“Right,” so he turns back his attention to the Telly, forgetting what he’d been trying to achieve in the first place. Everything about right now is throwing him off the curve, unfamiliar ground he’s never really walked on, almost makes him think of when Harry had actually shown up to Mullingar back in the early days of the band. They’d bantered over twitter, and it was in talks that he should visit, but him actually showing up, getting along with his family, was something he hadn’t expected. 

 

The ending credits roll on the screen, a tinge of sadness spreading in his chest, this probably means Harry has to go back to his room now, that they can’t coop up in the same one because security is tight and fans have blockaded the hotel. Back during  the height of One Direction, he reckons during 2013, it was the worst. They’d be stuck in hotels hours on hours no end in sight. At the time they’d wished to be anywhere, but there, right now Niall wonders why. Feels, most days, like he’s been living his life in reverse, like he’s come to know so many things and yet he’s left knowing nothing at all. 

 

“So,” Harry drags out, shuffling on the carpet so he’s facing Niall now, legs criss-crossed with his hands holding onto his ankles. “What’s been new with you? Been hearing loads.”

 

Niall blinks, and thinks  _ yeah I can’t and I won’t _ , and says, “You know, just filling up time. Looking into this investment into a studio with Bressie, been planning the Charity match, set up a company for the young one’s to play golf.”

 

“What’s your favorite part?” Harry asks, cupping his jaw in his hand, elbows digging into his thigh. Niall doesn’t know what his favorite part is, he’s more than ecstatic to play golf and help people get into it, looking forward to the charity to help with the Cancer research, and the studio. There’s something about that still makes him feel unsettled, as if, as if he’s letting go. He is, just. 

 

“You’d think after years of media training and official meetings you’d get the hang of it y’know? But the business side of things are  _ so _ different especially with how much risk is involved, been running like a chicken with me head cut off these past few days,” Niall explains. 

 

He can feel his cheeks heat up at the way Harry’s looking at him, making him feel as if he’s just narrated the greatest story of their time, or explained to him that Whole Foods is having half off on their produce, and it is slightly unnerving - his skin tight and his thoughts spiraling into a series of  _ you can’t you can’t you can’t _ . 

 

Niall glances at Harry who’s intently staring at his face, eyes half-mast - gazing specifically at Niall’s lips. To dissipate the tension he goes on, nattering off random things, “Boracay, you’d have liked it, proper touristy, but you know how when we went to Oslo there has been this quietness, the city still? Was like that. Me mates even went fishing, Philippines is huge on that, didn’t know.” 

 

This goes on for a bit, Niall retelling stories from his little adventure, and Harry laughing at the right parts, except all the while his eyes stay fixed where they’d been before. Inevitably, Niall gives in, tucking his index finger under Harry’s chin and pushing his head up, “My eyes are up here, Harry.”

 

A distinct flush trickles across his face, and Niall can tell he’s chewing the inside of his gums, terrible habit of his, “Have you ever thought about…”   
  


Niall gets up at that, willing his legs to support his weight, but before he can gather himself he’s being tugged down, enough force that he falls to his knees - eye level to Harry. 

 

“Mate, we,” Niall protests, but Harry’s carding his fingers through the ends of his hair, cupping his head solidly in his palms, and then saying, “Stop me if this isn’t what you want.”   
  


Harry leans into Niall, hesitantly almost, pressing his lips to his. And it is like the illusion, the barriers Niall’s set up around him, brick by brick cemented himself on the inside trying to avoid the list of things that could’ve affected the band, breaks. The number one  _ Don’t _ on the list piercing through, and his heart gives away at that. He closes his eyes shut, doesn’t want to see Harry looking at him like he’s the only that matters in the room, making him feel as if he’s the only that matters,  _ period _ . 

 

Harry kisses like he talks, slow, and languid, brushing his tongue at the seams of Niall’s mouth, coaxing it to open, dipping in and taking anything that he’d be willing to offer. There is a sense of neediness, uncertainty, and Niall knows the reason behind it. If they’re doing this then he knows that Harry’s well aware of the consequences. Problem is whether it is truly worth it.

 

The pull apart coming up for air, Harry’s head dropping to Niall’s shoulder, and his body shaking into a laugh, “God, this is so embarrassing.” 

 

Niall brings a hand to his waist, circling around and letting it sit, “What is?”   
  


“Being this way,” Harry says, picking his head up, eyes glimmering with a swirl of happiness, “Being so gone for someone.”

 

Niall’s throat tightens at that, a splutter of sorry’s at his tongue, but then Harry’s reeling him in for another kiss, each one sweeter than the last. They stay there, lips meshed for the longest time, numb even. Until Harry’s hand is skirting the waistband of Niall’s basketball shorts, fingers dipping in and Niall has to pull back with a sharp inhale, like his world has been tilted on its axis. That he’s living in an alternate universe and they can do this. He should allow himself this much, he really should.

 

“You don’t have’to,” He whispers, bringing a hand to Harry’s wrist. “I want to though,” Harry replies, smiling, but stops promptly. His fingers digging into the vee of Niall’s hips, “What’s wrong?”

 

“We should move to the bed, don’t want your bum knee to start aching on me,” Harry says thoughtfully. 

 

“Aw, you’re such a romantic, so caring,” Niall banters, tapping at Harry’s chest. “My knight in a shinning armor.”   
  


Harry brings a hand to Niall’s ass giving it a squeeze, Niall lurching forward into his arms, “Always.”

 

Niall dips down to pull at Harry’s bottom lip, both boys fumbling to get up, and then Harry’s hoisting Niall up by grabbing his thighs, pulling him flush against his chest. The decision to change into shorts earlier was the best one Niall has made in a while, wrapping his legs around Harry’s torso, smiling into the kiss as Harry tips him towards the bed.

 

Niall falls on his back, crawling to the headboard and hurries to shimmy out of his shorts, Harry pulling off his own shirt, his gaze never leaving Niall’s, “You look like you’re going to eat me whole.”   
  


“Never said I wasn’t,” Harry growling like a mix of chihuahua and an irritated cat making Niall laugh.

 

He prowls between his legs, spreading them apart. Niall left on his black briefs, but he’s not too bothered, Harry oddly fascinated with his calves. “Twig legs you’ve got,” Harry mumbles, pressing a kiss to his ankle, and Niall laughs, admiring the way Harry’s licking up the hair on his legs. This should be entirely gross, the saliva from his tongue sticking to his skin, but he’s unperturbed. 

 

He moves up then, fingers dipping the meat of his thighs, gently stroking at the hair there, “This is like a whole new territory, I feel like I’m playing a round of Zelda and unlocking new maps and quests.”   
  


Niall snorts at that, his spine arching into Harry’s touch, “One heck of a round then, mate. What’s the game plan?”

 

Harry looks up at him through his eyelashes, eyes dancing with mischief, and he’s  _ so terribly young _ Niall remembers again, but right now, he feels it too. He feels like he’s weightless, flying along the wind that is carrying him away. Back when he was younger he did a project over Arctic Terns and how they migrated during the season, the wind guiding them along to their next destination, and he feels like that right now. A new destination. Harry makes him feel youthful, untainted by the years pressed into his memory.

 

A voice at the back of his mind tells him  _ no _ , but his heart is beating  _ yes yes yes _ . “First, I’ll blow your mind away,” Harry lists.

 

“Charming,” Niall comments.

 

“Anyway,” he croons, his voice gravelly, as if someone’s filled it up with a bucket of honey and the words are drowning in it, “Then, you’ll return the favor.”   
  


“Don’t remember that being in Zelda,” Niall snickers, his laugh getting caught in his chest as Harry drags the pink of his tongue along the soft flesh of the inside of his thighs. He shivers under the touch, the attention, his limbs aching to touch him, so he extends his arm to weave his fingers into Harry’s hair. He does it again, the press of his tongue heavy, eliciting a moan out of Niall, his breath heavy, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Harry. Wants to see him, wants to see him want Niall. Whole and raw. 

 

And just like that with nimble fingers, eyes asking for permission first, to which Niall nods, Harry pulls down his briefs. The length of his already hard cock insistent, and needy, and then Harry catches him off guard again, “You’re so beautiful.”   
  


His chest is already pink, but now a crimson red spreads up the wisps of hair to his throat, up to his cheeks and ears, “Thanks?”

 

Harry pulls back a little, concern masking his features, “No, not like -, like.” He dips down and kisses Niall’s lips, one hand firmly attached to his thigh the other cupping Niall’s jaw, and Niall’s never been treated like this. This is another level of intimacy and he’s never experienced it like this, “No, like, you’re gorgeous. All of you.” Harry says breathless against his lips, “I love every part of you, the golf loving incredible singer, and the -”

 

Niall stops him, because he can’t bear to hear Harry say all these things, kisses him instead swallowing his words into his mouth. His chest expanding at the rush of feelings, and he thinks,  _ I want to love you too _ .

 

When they pull apart, Harry moves down, warm breath ghosting over Niall and then he takes him in whole, his lips a strawberry red, and Niall could come to just the way Harry looks right now. Attentive, and giving, and Niall wants to reciprocate every part of this, the sex and - he wonders what the worst could be, to want them to go steady, to ask Harry if they could build a routine. But he knows he won’t. 

Harry’s tongue grazes under the sensitive skin, Niall rocking his hips into him, and then he’s coming hot and spurts into Harry’s mouth which he takes, swallowing it whole. He pulls off, not before leaving a soft kiss to his head, and Niall’s heart gives away at that, goosebumps erupting along the stretch of his skin, and then comes up to kiss Niall’s mouth. 

 

Odd tasting yourself on someone else’s tongue, but Harry’s moving up to his cheeks peppering slobbery kisses to the apples and then to his ear, licking the shell, down to his jaw, dragging his tongue along the bristles. Bites at the freckle at the base of Niall’s neck, right below his ear. A shiver runs down Niall’s spine, his thigh clenching tight, and he skates a palm down the slope of Harry’s back. 

 

Harry sucks on the skin at the hollow of his throat, stroking his tongue over his blossoming work, the blue stark and bright against Niall’s pale skin, and says, “Best golf date, yet.”   
  


In-between kisses, and hushed whispers, they fall asleep, Niall never getting the chance to return the favor, and come morning he feels gross between his thighs, his chest heavy with the weight of another person. The billowy wind from the window moving the curtains around, sunlight shining through the the clear panes, Niall’s skin soft against the sheets they’re under.

 

He presses a kiss to Harry’s head, moving his hand down to the waistband of his boxers, squeezing his love handles which makes him stir a bit, mumbling incoherently under the staticy sheets. Their legs are tangled and Niall is blissed out, sliding his fingers into under his boxers and palming the head of Harry’s cock.

 

Harry’s head jerks up, eyes blown wide, a lazy smile hiking his face, “Morning!”

 

Someone, think it was Alexa Chung, who’d once said that looking at Harry was like looking at a lighthouse and for the most part it had gone over everyone else’s head. But after spending so much skittering around one another, careful of each step, and not quick to fall head into the love running through him, he knew what she meant. He stands tall, bright, and somehow so helpful, guiding you along, pulling you in until you’ve handed yourself to him.

 

Harry ducks down slotting his lips to Niall’s, licking into his mouth, hands gliding up Niall’s chest. Niall builds a rhythm jerking Harry off until he’s arching over him, moaning into Niall’s ear, stirring his own cock to the sound of pleasure. Harry comes all over Niall’s stomach, making a mess of the sheets and the minimum amount of clothes they were wearing in the first place. 

 

There is a sheen of sweat pooling around Niall’s collarbones, a similar one to Harry’s forehead, and then they are kissing again. Harry presses some down the column of his throat, moving down to his chest and nuzzling his nose into the hair, prodding the nub of  Niall’s nipples with his tongue, “Jesus Christ.”

 

And then he bites it, an unearthly moan escaping Niall’s lips, Harry’s fingers trailing down to squeeze Niall’s belly. His hot breath then fanning over his stomach biting at the taut skin there, and then almost too soon he’s pulling back, getting up on his knees in between Niall’s spread apart legs, the sheets falling off Harry’s shoulders, “Turn over.”

 

Niall does as he’s told, fumbling around until he’s laying down on his chest, Harry’s rubbing all the way down the slope of his back, pressing his thumb into the indentations of his spine, he starts at the top pressing a kiss at the base of his skull then moves down each vertebrae, 24 kisses split at each dip, and Niall curves into the touch, “ _ Harry. _ ”

 

“Gonna take care of you, babe,” Harry breathes, “Proper, like you deserve it. Like I’ve always wanted to.”

 

The ‘ _ always wanted to _ ’ rings in his ear, dropping soundly like coins into an empty wishing well, and he could cry at that, could tremble into himself and forget about how he’d promised himself he won’t fall down this road, how he wouldn’t let himself have this - this love that Harry is so willing to spend over him. 

 

Words coming out hitched when he feels Harry pull apart his cheeks, his nose nudging the curve, “Oh my god, what are you?”   
  


At the first touch of Harry’s tongue at his entrance, a ball of heat swells in his stomach, Niall scrambling to his palms, leaning into it, Harry biting around his skin making Niall plead out a moan, a guttural sound coming from the core of his chest, loud and unabashed. He’s never felt this exposed to anyone, this breakable, yet he feels as if he’ll be the one breaking his heart at the end of this. 

 

Niall writhes in pleasure, Harry warm and slick against him, and then he feels him coming in spurts, the boy pulling back and pressing a slobbery kiss to his ass. Niall falls flat on his chest, coming down from the high, and Harry crawls up him, biting his shoulder, “You’re so damn beautiful.” Turns him a bit so their faces can meet and he’s kissing him senseless, like all the times before weren't enough, and they aren’t Niall knows because he feels the same. 

 

He pulls back a smidge, their foreheads meshed to one another’s, and confesses in his most earnest, sleep laced voice, “I love -”

 

And Niall tries to kiss him, to stop him, but Harry’s turning his head, eyebrows knitted, “Stop doing that, stop it.”   
  


Niall hand lays limply on his jaw, clammy from nervousness, afraid to move, his chest tight at what is about to happen, “I don’t understand.”   
  


“Yes, you do,” Harry moves back a little, still within reach though, “This is the third time you’ve done this, stopped me before I’ve fully said it, let me  _ say  _ it.” And with dewy eyes, he adds, “ _ Please _ ,”

  
  


“Haz,” Niall says, soft, careful not to burn down the already rocky bridge, “We can’t think like that. We, the band, it is going to get back together an-”

 

“And what? What Niall? What about me?” 

 

Niall winces. Naturally, once he doesn’t get an answer, Harry drags himself out of bed, grabbing at the floral patterned shirt of his from the night before and yanking it on, “Harry, Listen.”   
  


“To what? You blatantly ignoring me at Xfactor when I told you how I felt, how I’ve felt about you all this time?” Harry spits, his words clipped and Niall isn’t exactly having a blast doing this either. He’s trying to do this so they can untangle from the roots they’ve entwined to, so they can move on from parts of themselves that aren’t worth holding onto. 

 

“This won’t be worth it,” Niall says.

 

“You mean, I won’t be worth it,” Harry replies. Moving around the room to gather his things, and that makes Niall get out of bed, to his feet, grabbing Harry by his bicep and reeling him in, and there is only one thing left that he’s wanted most for the last five years, unable to have. 

 

“No, you’re wrong.” Niall refutes, standing his ground and keeping the firmness in his achy voice. “It is because you  _ are _ . It is because I haven’t spent so long loving you for you to leave me over nothing, Harry. I know how it goes.”

 

Harry softens at that, defeated almost, “You’ve always been different, Niall. You’ve always been it.”

 

Niall slides his hand down his arm, entwining their fingers and using the other hand to cup Harry’s face, “You know, I don’t look at anybody like I look at you either.” And he’s been loving harry for so long, just by letting Harry love him, by falling prey to everything Harry wants of him. There isn’t an ounce of regret over it. “I really love you, and I am not really sure if this will work, and the thought of losing you is terrifying,” Niall admits out loud. 

 

Harry sighs, bringing his forehead to Niall’s shoulder, and Niall can feel the wetness of his eyes against his bare skin, “I love you too and that’s why it is okay.”

 

They don’t talk about it after, not when Harry leaves back to L.A. and Niall is left in an empty hotel room to himself, and suddenly the future seems just as certain as it had been before, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Like, maybe, if time allows this will all work out.

 

Weeks turn over into months, and the hiatus is sneaking up close to its end, which is both exciting and scary. Harry and Niall keep in touch by not keeping in touch, only the occasional hey in the group message, and when a year later Liam is calling for a group meeting and Louis is nattering on about all the songs he’s written, he knows they’d made the right decision back then. 

 

_ I will wait for you _ , Harry had said before leaving a year and a half ago, and it had sounded like a promise they’ll keep. He really hopes it is so.


End file.
